


If he stayed

by Gerardwayismymom



Category: Frank Iero - Fandom, Gerard Way - Fandom, MCR - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, frerard - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 22:10:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20365915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerardwayismymom/pseuds/Gerardwayismymom
Summary: "I'll be back in a minute"Gerard called out,  giving Frank a smile as he grabbed his keys and left the house in a hurry,Frank shrugging with himself as he went back to the basement, getting busy with his guitar again.Waiting for someone who never came back.





	If he stayed

**Author's Note:**

> Another fuel to our depression.   
Feel free to hate me after reading this  
I just love writing sad fics

The strong smell of coffee was something familiar when he was around Especially in early hours of the day, every part of the house smelled like coffee which at first wasn't that pleasant for someone like me Who wasn't as crazy about coffee as him. I mean I did enjoy a cup of it and a book on rainy days but usually I was fine with tea. The second was paint. It was like paint and coffee was his "signature" Smell which at first was as annoying as it could be But then I grew to love it, just like anything else about him. It was now one of the nostalgic ways that reminded me of him. It made his presence so realistic to me that I almost expected him to come out of any room and walk towards the coffee maker. And he would start it, mumble few things with himself as a soft David Bowie was playing from upstairs And I would just watch him, waiting for his usual question. "What do we have for lunch, Frankie?" Or "have you seen my paintbrush" Or something like that. He wasn't as "drowned in work" as they assumed he was. No He just liked to focus on the job in hand, then as always he would appear on top of the stairs that led down to the basement, hands on his back, staring at me with a smile. He Usually liked to sit a few hours, down in the basement, watching me play as he listened quietly, sipping on my tea, from my mug And he would always clap at the end, getting up and giving me a kiss as he told me how amazing that was. Crazy how time flies. It was high school, end of the autumn I assume, I met him at the corner of the library, amazed by him finally noticing me. He had a basement band back then Quite popular among the students actually. They would sometimes cover David Bowie songs, green Day and all And I honestly thought they were so cool. I was always daydreaming about being in a band and become as good as them. He had everything anyone wished for Most of the girls had a crush on him and I, the loser punk kid from his brother's class could never even imagine being able to talk to him. Let alone to hold his hand as I played with his slender fingers while I sat on his lap, my forehead resting against the side of his neck, watching as he sketched with his free hand. Or maybe kissing him behind the art block, secretly as he was smoking. Living with him under the same roof. Going from someone that secretly admired him from afar to being called "baby" By him "Love" "Honey" "Frankie" Being there for him in the days that nothing seemed to work right To the days that everything finally started to get in place To him receiving an email one afternoon that made him jump from his spot on the couch, running towards me like an excited child, reading it loudly for me. My heart aches and oh It aches so badly as I walk past the room every time And I watch there through the crack of the door, gulping and looking around. The computer that has been off for five months now The small notebook on the printer with his hurried handwriting in it. The sketchbook His pencils. And I think about that day again And again And again And feel my heart wrench in my chest For the millionth time as I walk past the room quickly, shaking my head. Some days it's just the suffocating pain wrapped like hands Squeezing my throat. Some other days it's worse as I enter the room and sit down I play David Bowie, closing my eyes as the familiar music fills the room. And I feel the warm liquid down my cheeks When I'm one move away from ending it all... The old coffee maker started to make noise as I turned it on after a while, turning and making my way to the room upstairs The room is closed. My fingertips brush the doorknob, knowing he used to touch it. I twist it I clutch at my shirt tightly. I don't want to do this but How else would I feel his existence? How else I- I run my finger over the dry paint of the unfinished painting, my eyes closed as I feel the warm liquid sliding down my cheeks. "I'm here, gee" I whisper, running my hands all over everything To feel it To feel him. Soon the coffee smell fills the air Along the paint. I make my way downstairs and pour a mug for myself I even fill my tea mug since I know he'll want some while he visits me in the basement. I take my guitar and scream at the top of my lungs A song is created but it's nothing but pure screaming. It's nothing but my torn lungs Hate Love Pain And I sing about death, the Hazel lifeless eyes, no light behind them. I scream some more, squeezing my eyes shut to block the image that's in the back of my mind. The pale lips, apart, witnessing the last breath leaving his lungs. My heart aches again as I just give up. I just let the demons take over me, chanting his last words inside my head before death took him awa. "I'll be back in a minute" "LIAR!" I yell, burying my face in my hands. "It has been months. But you're still not back.."


End file.
